THE FUNERAL PLANNER

Chapter 10 Part 1: Organizational Strategy - The Resurrection of Lights Out

I read from our list. “Okay, not in any particular order...here we go—How to Connect with Survivors, Lessons on Paraphrasing, The Role of Experience Design, Criteria for Designing Authentic Customized Tributes, Human Tribute Stories, Pet Tribute Stories, Life Celebra­tion Suggestions for the Soul, Estate Planning, Syndicating Pre-Needs, and...I just added Confronting the Closet...oh, and there’s the Directory of Resources.”

“I say add it to the list. Closets are dark and scary enough as it is, man,” says Carl, who’s been listening to the ping-pong conversations at the bar. Carl operates the local bowling alley; he hands me a bowling shirt with my name on it. “Here ya go, Maddy. She’s all yours—on the house.”

“Thanks,” I reply, delighted with the addition to my wardrobe.

Richard ponders this for a moment and then in one swift motion he hits the mute button on the remote for the tele­vision set, lifts a small iron rod and bangs an iron dinner bell. A ring bellows through the restaurant and bar. Everyone stops, frozen in place, and looks up toward the bar where Richard stands.

“All in favor of a chapter on cleaning out the closet of a loved one who’s passed, raise your hand.”

The entire clientele raise their hands. Richard and I share a look. As everyone drops their arms and goes back to their business, I make a note on the pad. Richard punches the mute button again, allowing the sounds on the television to return to life.

“Okay, we’ll work on that chapter tonight,” he says.

“Great,” I say. Then I see the clock. “Oops, I forgot to roll last call.” I hit the mute button on the remote for the televi­sion set again, lift the iron rod and tap the dinner bell. No one hears it. I tap again, louder this time. Everyone stops and looks my way.

“Sorry to interrupt again,” I announce. “But tonight is last call on handing in those Tribute Stories for Pets, Friends, Lovers, Businesses, Beliefs, and, well, anything that constitutes a loss. Oh, and that includes living and breathing lovers who leave you for no good reason, especially after they’ve given you the impression that everything is swell...so, um, where was I? Oh, yeah, the most moving and descriptive tales will be in the pamphlet. Pens and paper are in the straw hat at the end of the bar. And don’t forget to add your names and the city you’re from.”

People pull out notebooks, scraps of paper with their already written stories. Some head to the bar for paper and pen. Lana, a girl in her early twenties and part-time college stu­dent, hands me her story on lined loose-leaf paper. “I wrote about my horse, Jet, who passed away last year. Thanks for doing this, Maddy. It felt really good to write about him. I hope you use it.”

“Hey, thank you, Lana, for participating,” I reply. “I’m glad it made you feel better.” I add her story to the folder lying next to the register. As Lana exits the bar, I turn around to pull down one of the many books on the sociology and psy­chology of grieving that now line a shelf next to the liquor bottles. I open the book to where a bookmark rests and start reading where I left off. I pull the yellow Magic Marker from behind my other ear and highlight a passage: “Sharing your grief with others is a crucial and necessary function of healthy grieving.” I think about that, and glance over at Richard, then I close the book and start writing on my pad.

Dear Madison,

I must share and mourn the death of my lover with you. He lost it in an Eskimo roll on the Huron River—no, scratch that—he was destroyed by an army of giant ten­pins in a bowling alley—

“Hey, Maddy. Can I have a Hefivisen when you get a chance?”

I look up. The young, strapping Pete Gallagher, a blond, blue-eyed electrical engineer from Grass Valley, smiles at me over the bar. He sits down with his sports section of the De­troit Free Press under his arm. I bring him his beer. “How’s the log cabin coming, Pete?”